


Wait for it

by Ella_theAngel



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: And I’m not going to give it to him, Depressed Fundy, FUNDY DESERVED BETTER, Fundy has daddy issues, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post Jan 6th, Ranboo give this man a hug, Songfic, Sort Of, Yo it’s literally just a bunch of flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28784286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ella_theAngel/pseuds/Ella_theAngel
Summary: Fundy was still not over it. Months since his father’s death and he’s still not over it. Weak, is what Schlatt would call him if Schlatt weren’t dead as well.There’s gotta be a reason he’s still alive.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Ranboo, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Jschlatt & Floris | Fundy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 68





	Wait for it

Fundy was sitting in church prime for the third time this week. He didn’t believe in a higher power, and he was fairly certain no one else around he did either, but he sat here in silence nonetheless. He found himself here more often, sometimes subconsciously wandering here if he felt lost.

Lost, a feeling he’d experienced a lot nowadays. Not just loss, the kind he’d felt time after time when nothing ever changes, but lost. On a path he thought he’d traveled a hundred times but still didn’t know where the end of it took him.

Back when he was young, if he got lost he’d call out for his mum, or dad if she was busy, and someone would come find him. No one would be left to find him if they were all already gone. That’s the funny thing about death, it doesn’t discriminate. All it does is take and take even where there’s nothing left to take.

It still hurt when he thought about death, even if it be months past. It’s the kind of tragedy you never get over, especially when everyone left who you thought might still care about pours salt in your open wounds. He still wished Phil were on his side, that his Grandpa still cared about him.

A breath of fresh air might do him good. He left the church, crawling at a snails pace toward the prime path. Usually the amount of purpose you feel in life is reflected onto how you act in everyday scenarios. In this case, his will to live was reflected in his pace.

Yet, if there was any reason he should still be alive when everyone who loved him had died, he’d wait for it. It was nice to be on the path, walking on the old wood absentmindedly, hands buried in his pockets and head face down with his eyes close, just wandering.

He looked up again at the dip in the path, where the wooden planks hovered just above the water. One glance at the sky and the sun didn’t seem nearly as high as it did just a minute ago. He turned around to face a scene playing out in front on his eyes.

Tubbo stood next to another version of him, anxiously biting his nails. On the other side of the bridge stood Sapnap, George, Punz, and Eret. He saw Wilbur stand in the middle of the two groups, and he nearly choked on his breath, dressed for war. On the bridge stood Tommy and Dream, bows drawn.

Right, this was the duel.

It must have been the past, or a hallucination or a waking dream or nightmare, because just as the shots were fired, it all disappeared. The sun was perched high in the sky again. Something was wrong with him.

He went on with walking again, and was that word again, lost, not knowing where he was going and just putting one foot in front of the other. Until that foot nearly stumbled into the huge crater one known as L’manberg. Had no one cared to get Wilbur’s body after he died he might have been buried somewhere along the wreckage.

And just like it had at the bridge, the empty hole of L’manberg had completely changed, back to its former, non blown-up state. And from his vantage point, he could see the old podium they had used to host the election crowded with people. The following events he’d recognize any day.

It was Schlatt standing up there, Quackity and an uncomfortable Tubbo by his side, as he exiled Wilbur and Tommy from their land. He remembered that day good as any, because he was momentarily happy, a rare occurrence even at that time.

Maybe he was happy to see Tommy finally get what he deserved. All he ever did was take and take and he kept winning anyway. Maybe he was glad to see Wilbur go, the father figure that he never was. Perhaps Schlatt has always been the better father figure to him, or the relationship that he craved, that he never had.

He turned his head left from the podium, expecting the scene to fade, not a new one to appear. Where the L’manberg flag used to stand, the oldest one, it stood once more, but not untouched. Fundy recognized himself standing at the bottom of the flags base, a torch in hand lighting it up.

The flag was gone again when he blinked. The crater back, but this time smaller. He instantly saw himself back in the moment, traumatized as the country he almost won back was exploded from within. By his own father as well, whose hiding spot had been revealed just in time for Fundy to watch him be stabbed. 

Nothing was the same after, when he was in cabinet meeting and rebuilding L’manberg and feeling a smidge of guilt at Schlatt’s funeral. All he’d think about for days and nights was the time when his father was alive and happy. Nothing much has changed.

He never considered himself an orphan till now, and he supposed his rage toward Technoblade may have been induced by that. It wasn’t fair that Technoblade got to get away with it but he never could. Life didn’t discriminate either, between sinners and saints it didn’t care, all it did was take.

The scenes faded again and his mind was just as empty as the crater. If there was only one thing in life he could control, it was himself. And yet he chose to be weak, as Schlatt would call him, a weak loser who didn’t know how to get over it. He looked down again at his jacket only to discover it wasn’t.

It was his old revolutionary war uniform, pastel colors standing out brightly. Then it was his pressed black suit Schlatt had gotten for him. Then he was in his coat, and his uniform, then his suit again. The longer he looked down the faster it flashed. He missed home more than he was willing to admit.

He didn’t even realize he was screaming until he heard a voice behind him ask if he was okay. When was the last time someone asked if he was okay? Of course he wasn’t okay. Fundy turned around to see who asked.

The stark contrast between black and white stuck out immediately as he recognized the soft smile of perhaps his only friend Ranboo. The tall enderman stood with his hands behind his back and a cautious look on his face. How long had he been standing there for?

”I’m..”

What was the point of lying anyway, it wasn’t going to get him the help he so desperately needed. But he didn’t trust anyone to confide his problems in, not even Ranboo. Whatever was happening to him he could deal with on his own.

”I’m okay.”

He’d wait for it.

**Author's Note:**

> An idea came to me after listening to Hamilton (again) and I sort of had to write it.  
> Obligatory sorry not sorry Fundy my boi’s got trauma amirite?


End file.
